Exile
by SubZeroChimera
Summary: Omega Zero is torn. Imprisoned in a world for doing nothing but what he was meant to do, his confusion slowly eats away at his sanity, proving that he himself is a target for his own Destruction"... Oneshot, stand-alone from my other fics.


Disclaimer; I do not own the Rockman/Megaman Zero/ZX series, or any characters contained therein.

Recommened music: I, 0 (Zero) your fellow (Telos).

A/N: This is just something I came up with when I should have been going to bed. Rated T for blood and (somewhat) ideologically sensitive violence. It is a oneshot with no relations to any of my other fics. Enjoy...

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><p>Trapped.<p>

Trapped forever, in a strange space where gravity was scarce, data and energy swirled in vicious storms, and the sky itself was torn in anguish. The dark sun, which seemed to absorb light rather than emit it, decorated the sky with sinister orbs of blueish black light. Teal ground, surreal and jagged, dropped away into eternity in vaguely hexagonal shapes. Occasionally some of these shapes would break away, thin slices sliding apart like mica and floating, shimmering with unnatural light.

Even those who lived here found, a scant few mechaniloids, found more harm than solace among the landscape in which they competed for precious food sources. And above the oppressive silence, the gloomy atmosphere, and the unholy black sun, occasionally rose a scream of suffering and rage.

Whenever the inhuman wail sounded, the mechaniloids simply ignored it. They were used to it. After all, their primitive thought processes just registered it as another of their own. A less intelligent mechaniloid occasionally answered it back, only to be picked off by the predators stalking it nearby.

The cries were not mechaniloid in nature, however. Anything but, they came from a source much more complex than they. Across a sea of brutal spires lay the lair of a demon from the depths of history.

A single reploid, centuries old, roared as he attacked himself in his insanity.

_Why was I left here?_

Through eyes tinted with bloodlust and snarling fangs seeking any flesh, even his own, to rip to pieces, the small corner of Omega's mind not lost to insanity was struck dumb with numerous unanswerable questions.

_Will I ever be able leave?_

Another chunk of flesh was torn asunder, but quickly healed even as he swallowed.

_Why can't I die?_

Again, he bit off a piece of his body, only to have it heal moments later.

_Why... does it hurt so much? Why?_

He screeched in frustration.

_Why was I left behind?_

Omega's spell of insanity faded as he fell to the floor, panting and drooling. The taste of his own blood was heavy upon his lips even as he laid on his back.

His fits were becoming more common. Stuck in his prison, Omega's state of consciousness, if you could call it that, switched between moments of contemplation and moments of intense self-mutilation. But recently, he was hurting himself more often than not.

_Maybe_, he thought, _because it's the only thing that reminds me that I'm real._

No mechaniloids could ever make it across the sea of spikes and randomly appearing blocks surrounding his prison, so Omega didn't even know that they existed. The only thing he could see was the sun, a few walls, a door that couldn't be opened, and that strange, strange sun in the sky.

Omega rested, thinking again on why he was there.

What was it that he'd done? He'd obeyed. He obeyed his programming. He obeyed his killer instincts. He'd never once deviated from the destiny given to him, faithfully fulfilling every mission set before him.

He'd only ever done what he was supposed to do.

Was that really so wrong? Did that really make him deserve this fate? This exile?

Was obeying his master... the wrong thing to do?

The virtue of obedience, so deeply ingrained in his programming, told Omega otherwise. He was in the right. Always had, always would be, and even if he did horrible things to people, it was only because he had been told to do so. If they were a thorn in his master's side, then he would faithfully deal with them.

_My master..._

Two hundred years. Two whole centuries. He'd waited faithfully for his master to find him. There was little else he could do.

_But why..._

Omega writhed again, his last shred of sanity still locked within his eternal struggle and pain.

_Why hasn't he come?_

Another scream echoed across the land.

_Did he abandon me?_

The great God of Destruction's grief once again took hold, gnawing away at his mind and body. He writhed and tore, bit and shredded, slamming his body into the walls, the floor, or assailing it with his own teeth and claws.

Omega was waiting for his master, a dead man that would never have come even if he was still alive.

_Why... does it hurt so much? Why?_

_Why was I left behind?_

_Why, when I always tear myself to pieces, shred my body like this place has shredded my hopes... Why, when I do all this pain to myself, does it never hurt as much as that?_

_Why, why, does it never hurt as much as being forgotten?_


End file.
